Kiss of Blood
by Sings-off-key
Summary: BG2 SOA. A bard learns much of cruelty and the nature of his own divine curse in Irenicus' dungeon. Will he be dragged down into the mage's dark dreams of power and vengeance? Rated M for adult situations and gore.
1. Enter the Mage

_Author's Note: As a change of pace from my story Shared Soul, I have decided to embark on a considerably less epic tale. I'm afraid that Lorian is a rather lusty young hero, but I will do my best to keep him within the confines of the M rating…but you are warned, Dear Reader. Updates may be a bit erratic until Shared Soul is complete._

**Chapter 1…Enter the Mage**

Gentle voices. Gentle touches. These were such a contrast to the torture that had filled my endless hours here that at first I thought I must be dreaming. When I realized they were speaking Sylvan and not Common, I was certain it was a dream.

"Who is he, Ulene?" one woman whispered.

"I forget his name," said another, presumably Ulene. "He is the one our master has been seeking so long." Lorian, I thought. My name is Lorian. I am Lorian of Candlekeep. I was pleased to remember who I was. Now if only I could remember _where_ I was...

"Why does Irenicus keep hurting him then?" she asked.

I had no idea. I had been brutally tortured but not interrogated. Unless my captor sought some sort of revenge against me, it made no sense. Who could I have wronged so? The name Irenicus was totally unfamiliar.

I had made an enemy of the Iron Throne, of course, despite the favor I had done them when I killed my brother Sarevok in Baldur's Gate. My brother was the one who had used them and betrayed them, not I, but life is often unfair like that. However if they wished revenge, it seemed more likely that they would send assassins against me instead of taking me prisoner.

Was it possible that some of Sarevok's supporters still lived? They had worshipped him as a god, after all. Perhaps they were fanatical enough to torture me instead of killing me.

"Look, sisters," said a third voice. She spread the fingers of my right hand, to better display the webbing there. The webbing was only between my four fingers. Webbing to my thumb would have made me a better swimmer, no doubt, but a poorer bard.

"Is he one of the sea people? Does he have gills?" one asked. Someone brushed my hair away from my neck and leaned over me.

"I don't see any gills," Ulene said, sounding a little disappointed. It was a disappointment to me too. I was crushed as a child when I realized I would never be able to breathe underwater. It was part of the price I paid for being half human. "But look." She opened the tie to my shirt and exposed my chest.

"Ooh," someone said, and her hand traced a line from my throat to my ribs. The scales on my face are so small and translucent that they are barely noticeable unless the light strikes just right, but they are larger and thicker on my chest and back. These scales also have a decidedly silvery tint, shading to blue as they progress down my body.

The two other women crowded in closer and stroked my skin. I opened my eyes to slits and looked at them through my lashes. Dryads. I had once been in love with a dryad and I would never forget the lessons she had taught me under the shade of her graceful oak. I had learned Sylvan from her and much else besides. Those had been some of the most contented days of my life.

These three dryads looked much alike, as sisters do sometimes. They had long hair the color of leaves about to fall. Yet it was late spring. They were out of season. That was odd and disconcerting.

"The scales are not as hard as they look, Cania," Ulene said. "They feel…nice." They felt dry and itchy, actually. I could live indefinitely out of the water but going too long without a good soaking was uncomfortable. Lucky for me this dungeon was damp or I'd be scratching like a flea-bitten hound.

"I wonder…" said Cania and I felt her hands on the tie to my pants. I decided that no man could be expected to remain unconscious through this and so I opened my eyes and gave her a sleepy smile.

"Yes," I said in her language. "I have scales there too." She smiled back at me.

"May I look?" she asked, giggling.

"I certainly can't stop you," I said. My arms and legs were tied to a table that seemed made for just such a purpose, a furniture design new to my experience. "Not that I would wish to, of course, beautiful one. Please, feel free to satisfy your curiosity." I gave her and her sisters another smile.

"What pretty eyes you have," Uleme said and she stroked my brow.

"Ocean eyes," said Elyme. She toyed with a long lock of my hair. "Ocean hair. Tell me, strange one, do you taste of the sea?" She gave my mouth a lingering kiss which I returned with enthusiasm. They really were quite beautiful, all three of them, with sweet voices and soft hands.

Cania took advantage of my offer and opened my pants to examine my bashful eel.

"Ooh, look sisters," she said. "He is iridescent like a pearl." Her fingers stroked me where the scales are very small and fine and I gave a gasp of pleasure.

"Were you ladies to release me…" I began, but the dryad still petting my hair gave me a sorrowful look.

"Alas," she said. "We are captives like yourself and we dare not give our master cause to punish us."

"But if you were to free me, could we not escape together?"

"That is impossible, alas. Irenicus has taken our trees and without them, we will die."

"He has taken your trees? How is that possible?" As far as I could tell, we were under the ground. I had seen nothing but a series of dank dark caves during the lucid periods of my captivity.

"Irenicus is a mage of great and terrible power." I gave a low moan, not out of fear, but due to the actions of the dryad who still had her hands in my pants. Her caresses were terribly distracting and I desperately wanted to be distracted. Yet this was the first time I had had the opportunity to learn anything of my captor.

"What does he want with us?" I asked.

"I do not know what he wants from you and your companions," said Uleme. Her fingers twined in my hair. "From me and my sisters, he wants, well…" She sighed. "He seems to want what many men want from such as us, and yet there is no heat in him. He is cold, icy cold, and although he calls us his concubines, there is nothing we can do to rouse or sustain his interest."

"My companions are here? All of them? Where are they?"

I could not hold back another moan. Cania with the clever fingers was still busy, and Elyme tugged at my pants, pulling them much lower. I raised my hips to help with this little operation. She dug her nails into my hip.

"Please, my sweet, I cannot think," I said. By Sune, thinking was definitely overrated, I decided. Feeling was better, oh so much better. Cania removed her lovely hands but before I could mourn their absence, she swung lithely onto the table and mounted me. Bound as I was, there was little I could do to assist, but she managed just fine.

"Oh, gods," I cried. It had been awhile since I had last fully known a woman's touch. In fact, it had been the whispered promises of a dark-haired beauty that had lured me away from one of the many victory parties held in our honor in Baldur's Gate after our triumph over Sarevok. My memories after that were fragmented and vague. My poor neglected eel let me know in no uncertain terms that it was happy indeed to swim once again in a woman's tides. In fact, I began to fear that it would disgrace us both with its untimely actions when something worse happened.

Cania shrieked as she was dragged off me. The mage slung her to the floor and her sisters cowered away. I got a good view of my captor. He was the size of a human, with the body of a fighter in his prime. Massive veins stood out on his face, perhaps caused by age or some strange disease. Or perhaps they were a side-effect of the close fitting cap that covered his hair and ears. I could feel that the cap was a source of power, like certain headbands or helms I've heard described.

I had vague memories of that face leaning over me. He was the pain bringer.

If he felt any emotion at seeing me engaged with one of his concubines, it did not show on his face.

"Out," he told them in Common and they bolted for the door without a word. His icy blue eyes gave me a cold appraisal. Spread-eagled on the table with my clothes all undone, I felt at a distinct disadvantage.

"I see you are up," he said. His voice held no expression. Had he made a joke? Did I see a glint of amusement in his eyes, perhaps? I could not deny the inherent humor in my situation.

"Please do not punish them," I said, giving him a little rueful smile that he did not return. "They were merely curious. They cannot help it; it is their nature."

"I am well aware of their nature," he said. "It is your nature that interests me, Lorian."

"I don't understand," I said, feeling terribly stupid. "Why am I here? What do you want from me?"

"Can you not guess?"

I gave him an appraisal of my own. He seemed confident to the point of arrogance. That he was a mage of great power, I could sense. I gave up my theory that he had any connection to Sarevok. This was not a man to stand in another's shadow.

He had captured me and apparently at least some of my friends, and not in battle but by subterfuge. And then he had tortured me and others as well, judging by the screams I heard from time to time. He was dangerous and ruthless. The fact that he had enslaved three gentle dryads told me even more of his nature. He was a predator and I wondered what it was he hunted.

I have often been accused of allowing my eel to do my thinking, but there was something rather intimate and sexual about this whole setup—the bondage, the slaves, and even the torture. Every torment I had suffered had been very personally delivered from his own hands. I have met men who, while considering themselves lovers of women, will allow themselves to be attracted to men who are sufficiently different. Men they consider exotic—a different race, a different culture, whatever.

Bards in particular are subjected to these types of encounters. Perhaps it is the public nature of our art, which exposes our heart and our emotions so that strangers feel they know us. Perhaps it is nothing more than our reputation for wantonness that targets us. At any rate, it occurred to me that this mage might be one of those kind of men. I saw no desire in his eyes, but I was finding him remarkably difficult to read, despite the fact that reading faces and moods was part of my stock in trade. But what else could he want of me?

So I shuttered my eyes to make my gaze less challenging. I let my voice sound a bit husky and tentative.

"You seem to know who I am but I do not know you," I said. "Can we not speak like reasonable people instead of all this?" I tugged against the bindings holding me down.

He gave me another long look and then his lips moved in some semblance of a smile. A simple touch of his elegant hands caused the straps to fall open. It was an enchantment of some sort.

"Come," he said. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had just swept out of the room, forcing me to try to keep up with my pants flapping down around my ankles. He waited for me. That was good, because I staggered off the table with numb legs and stiffness in every movement. I was doing well to keep my balance. Eventually I got everything fastened with my fumbling fingers. I felt six kinds of fool and I had to bite back the ridiculous urge to apologize. After all, none of this was my fault.

I followed the mage through several dark and winding passages, all lit by tiny globes of magical flame. We passed a huge golem whose eyeless head turned to follow our movement. The flash of eyes in the dark side passages told me that there were other hidden guards as well. I saw no sign of my companions or any other prisoners.

The narrow tunnel opened up into a sumptuously furnished room. Carpets and tapestries absorbed the echo and chill of the cavern. The glossy furniture reflected the light of the many lamps, some magical and some flickering with true flame. After the gloom of the dungeon, this room seemed almost as bright as day.

The mage sat down in a comfortable looking armchair and watched me in silence as I first gazed and then walked around the room, taking in the many small treasures and curiosities. My bare feet sank into the thick carpet. Incense burning in a small hanging censer gave off a subtle rich fragrance. The room was an opulent song for the senses. Despite the cold austerity of his manner, this was a man who surrounded himself with the rare and beautiful. I wasn't sure what this meant yet but it was interesting.

I sat in the chair he indicated. He spoke no order, but shortly Ulene brought us wine. She set a glass before me but did not meet my eyes. The thought that it might be drugged or poisoned crossed my mind but since I was already in the man's power, I drank without hesitation. My eyebrows rose at the quality of the vintage.

I had many questions but decided it would be safest to listen and follow his lead.

"What do you know of your parentage?" he asked. I blinked. I could hardly think of a more unexpected question.

"Of my mother, I know little," I said, quelling my surprise. "I think she died in childbirth. I was a foundling, left at a shrine of Ilmater. I was adopted by a childless sage and raised in a monastery." Candlekeep was more than a monastery, of course, but I saw no point in describing the great library.

"Is that the tale you were told?"

"What do you mean? I know nothing of my mother, not even her name." He continued to gaze at me as if he thought I was lying. Why would I lie about such a thing?

"Is that all you know?" he asked. I shuttered my eyes and pretended to misunderstand him.

"I am obviously of mixed blood," I said. "My mother was likely a triton. Possibly she was of mixed blood herself. Some suggest she was a mermaid or sirine."

"That would explain your voice," he said.

"You have heard me sing?" I asked in some surprise. He just nodded. Where had he heard me sing? It had been quite awhile since I had given any but private performances. I supposed it made sense that he had been watching me for some time before taking me captive, but it was a strangely unpleasant reflection.

I made the wine swirl in the bottom of my glass.

"You know of my sire," I said. "Don't you?" It was the only thing that made sense, if he was interested in my heritage. I looked up to meet his eyes. He nodded again.

"Bhaal," he said. "Lord of Murder." A mortal made god and then made mortal again. And I thought my life had its ups and downs.

"Is that why you have captured me?" I asked.

"I have an interest in those of divine blood," he said. "How can you be satisfied with the life you lead, singing in taverns to drunken patrons for a few miserable coins when you have so much untapped power?"

"I do more than that," I murmured. I had stopped a war in Baldur's Gate. I had stopped my brother's bloody ascent to godhood. Those were deeds that sounded quite grand but I could never have done them alone and truth to tell, I found more pleasure singing in taverns to drunken patrons. That suited me fine.

"You waste the gifts you were given," he said, with more heat than I had yet heard in his voice. "Do you even realize your potential?"

_By Sune, do you have the wrong brother, _I thought. This sort of talk might have struck a chord with Sarevok.

"What do you wish of me?" I asked.

"I will study you," he said. "Test you. Learn how best to develop your potential."

"To what end?" He just gave me a half smile.

"Have you taken my companions as well?" I asked. "Have you harmed them?" I saw the cruel knowledge in his eyes. "Why?" I cried.

"To test you, of course." I surged to my feet, barely avoiding knocking over my wine glass. He seemed completely relaxed as he watched me. He was utterly confident that nothing I could do would harm him. That made me uneasy. I paced back and forth, not quite ready to commit myself to an open contest. It wasn't just that I was unarmed and it wasn't just that I had no spells prepared. I felt outmatched. He made me feel weak and he frightened me.

"Irenicus," I said in a low voice and he started a little when I used his name. "You do not need them if your wish is to test me. If I were to pledge myself to cooperate with you, would you release them?" He watched me through hooded eyes.

"I do not require your cooperation," he said.

"Is it not better to have that which is given freely?" I asked, "Than that which is taken by force?" I gave him a look through my lashes. Yes, it was an outworn phrasing but I gave it a pretty decent delivery, I thought.

He put down his empty glass and stood. He stepped close to me and took my chin in his hand. His thumb traced the line of my jaw. Like his eyes and his voice, his hand was unnaturally cold. It was almost surprising to find that we were about the same height. He seemed bigger somehow.

"Are you attempting to seduce me, Lorian?" His eyes glinted and now I felt sure that he was amused.

"I will bargain with what I have to offer," I said. "I do not know what you want."

"What I want from you," he said, "Is nothing you will give freely."

"Try me."

"Oh, I shall," he said and he laughed and called for the jailer. The large stone golem stumped into the room and led me back to my cell.


	2. Out of Tune

_Author's Note: Dear Reader, I honestly intended this to be a light-hearted tale but I'm afraid that Irenicus is dragging me and my poor hero down into his dark world…_

**Ch. 2…Out of Tune**

Any hopes that I had that my conversation with Irenicus would spare me further torture were dashed. I had perhaps a few hours of broken sleep before the golem jailer dragged me back to the room with the table and strapped me in. First it had gestured for me to take off my shirt and a shiver ran through me when I saw the tray of knives laid out on a nearby counter.

I lay there for hours it seemed, alone and fearful, and waiting for the return of my captor. I tried to compose my mind and pray to my goddess, Sune, the Lady Firehair. I'm afraid my prayers sounded less like those of a man grown and more like those of a pathetic whimpering child trembling in the dark.

When Irenicus finally entered the room, it was almost a relief. He barely glanced at me and then walked over to the counter with the knives.

"Please don't," I said.

He opened a drawer and pulled out a long strip of black cloth.

"I take no pleasure from this, Lorian." His eyes were remote, withdrawn. I didn't want to believe him. Somehow the idea of methodical, impersonal torture seemed far worse than being tortured out of hatred or to satisfy a twisted desire to cause suffering. Hatred and desire I could understand.

"Your power is too great to be wasted," he said. "What I do is necessary."

"But why?" I asked. "I have no need or desire for power." He bound my eyes with the cloth so I was blind.

"One day you will understand," he said, and then he began.

xxxxx

"If you keep making him scream like that, you are going to ruin his voice," a woman said. Her own voice was breathy, almost girlish. I did not recognize it.

"That would be a pity," Irenicus said.

"Can't you silence him or gag him?"

"I do not care for gagging." Then he switched from Common to Elvish. "I spent too much effort to get him here to risk having him choke on a gag. You should not be here, sister. You have work elsewhere."

Elvish is a difficult language and I did not speak it well at all, but I had, of course, studied it, both at Candlekeep and during my travels. I am a bard and some of the Realms' most beautiful music is composed in Elvish. The gods had gifted me with an ear for languages and I could understand their words well enough as long as they did not speak too rapidly.

"You worry too much," she said. "I have matters well in hand."

"So you say," he replied dourly.

I did not hear the woman approach but her next words were said practically in my ear.

"Ulene was right," she said. "His appearance is most extraordinary." She took a fistful of my hair and then I felt her fingers trace the slight point at the tip of my ear.

"I have asked you to leave the dryads alone. I will not have you torment them."

"I have no interest in your dryads," she said. "This one, now, is a different tale. Let me have him, brother, and you can have the other. He is more to my taste than yours, surely," she added slyly.

"No. I do not trust you with him and I will not have my effort wasted. You have no discipline, sister. You are not to touch either of them until my work is complete."

"I have no discipline?" She gave a melodic laugh. "Alas, you are right. How fortunate I am that you have enough discipline for us both." I heard her voice move away from me. "Why brother, you haven't even started with the knives yet. Are you reluctant to mar his beautiful skin?"

"Put that back."

"A fine piece of steel," she said. "Did Ilyich make this?" Her voice drew closer again. "Perhaps I should commission him to make me a sword."

I shivered as she trailed the edge of the blade across my cheek and then scratched it gently along my throat.

"Clever of you to cover his eyes," she said in Common. "The unseen danger is much more frightening, is it not?" She let the point of the knife prick my throat and I flinched.

"Does this disturb you, handsome?" she breathed in my ear. She caressed my chest with the flat of the blade. Her other hand toyed with one of my nipples. Like Irenicus, she had cold hands.

"Yes." My voice was hoarse.

"Good. I very much want to…disturb you."

"That's enough!" Irenicus said harshly, also in Common. The woman drove the knife about a knuckle's length into the meat of my chest. I gasped from the shock but the blade was very sharp and caused little pain.

"Oops," she said playfully. "Now look what you made me do, Jon." Her fingers dabbled in the blood that ran down my chest in a warm trickle.

"Go now," Irenicus said. "Return to your task and amuse yourself elsewhere. You are wasting my time."

"As you wish," she said. "But I will see you later," she whispered in my ear. "One of these nights..."

Irenicus knew a spell that could light every nerve with pain, like a sheet of fire racing along my entire body. He had spells that racked my muscles with cramps and that bit along my skin like a thousand stinging insects. He cast them in silence, and with my eyes covered, I had no warning before one would strike me. After a time, I came to almost hope for the knives, as if they would bring a cleaner torment.

And when the pain became more than I could bear and I begged him to stop for a moment, just for a moment, he began to speak in my ear. His voice was low and impersonal as he spoke of things I longed to forget—of death and murder and of the beauty he said could be found therein. To a Suneite, these words were blasphemous. Only what is good is truly beautiful, and murder could never hold beauty.

He had long since drawn from me every detail of my brother Sarevok's death, for there was nothing I wouldn't have told him when he hurt me so terribly. He made me relive again and again the moment my sword had slipped through a weak spot in my brother's armor and had spilled his life's blood. He insisted that my brother's death was a turning point for me, my first steps upon the path of power that was my birthright. His voice wove a hypnotic spell as he spoke of these horrors. I shuddered and almost began to wish for the pain instead.

xxxxx

When the golem dragged me to my cell, I crawled onto the cot and lay there like a dead thing. I was totally exhausted but I could not sleep. The echo of my captor's words ran through my head like a haunting melody played off key.

Several hours later, the cell door opened again. I turned my head slowly to the door in total despair. Was I to be allowed no rest?

But it was not my jailer standing there. It was Ulene.

"Come with me," she said quietly, and my heart beat wildly for one startled instant as I believed she had come to free me. But her next words killed that hope. "He wishes you to be bathed," she said.

"Ah," I said and that one sound must have held a note of my desperation, for I saw tears spring to Ulene's kind eyes.

"I am so sorry," she whispered.

"Do not distress yourself," I said and forced myself to my feet. I ached in every muscle, it seemed. I followed her to a small bedchamber where a large tub stood ready, the water steaming hot. How it had been heated, I had no idea. Magic, most likely. Irenicus used his spells lavishly, as if he controlled an ever-flowing fountain of power.

I stripped, laying my clothes in a handy chair. I sank into the warm water with a sigh of pure gratitude, not just at the prospect of being clean again, but for the pleasure of being wet. The tub was not large enough for me to totally immerse myself, but still, it felt wonderful.

Ulene poured a pitcher of warm water over my head and then began soaping my hair.

"You needn't do that," I said, taking her hands in mine. "I can do it myself."

"These are my orders," she said softly.

"I see." It did feel very pleasant to have someone attend me. She rinsed the soap from my hair and then took a soft cloth and began washing my body.

"You really needn't do that," I said. She returned my smile.

"Would you wish me to disobey?" she asked but there was a playful note in her voice.

"Certainly not," I said and I kissed her hand. Her skin was the color of some light wood, apple perhaps, or spruce. She leaned in closer in what I hoped was a silent invitation and so I kissed her cheek. When she did not object, I kissed her lips as well and she responded with gentle passion.

"What other orders do you have?" I asked softly. She put her hand on my shoulder and pulled me even closer.

"Some things are left to my discretion," she said. My hands trembled as I touched her and she molded herself against me. After the horrors I'd endured, there was nothing I wished more than to lose myself in a willing embrace and the illusion of love.

Later, she had me sit cross legged on the bed while she worked a comb through my tangled hair.

"Please, Ulene," I said. "Can you tell me anything of my companions?" I turned to look at her. She gave a frightened shake of her head.

"I cannot," she said. "I'm sorry." But a few moments later, she pulled me down on top of her. She kissed along my neck and to my ear. Very, very softly, she whispered, "Two human women, one dark and one light."

I kissed her fervently while my brain worked in a fury. Only two were here? They were Imoen and Dynaheir, by the sound of it. Were the others dead? Held in another place? Or were they free to discover our location? Minsc was a ranger. If there was a trail to be followed, he would find it. He would not rest until he had his witch Dynaheir back under his protection. And Jaheira and Khalid were experienced warriors with powerful friends. So perhaps there was hope.

Ulene stroked my back and then she pushed against my shoulder.

"Please, Lorian, I must get you ready," she said. I rolled off her and let her finish combing my hair. She left it loose to dry and brought me clothes from the dresser. She gave me a tunic and breeches of simple cut but made of a rich silky fabric. As soon as I finished dressing, the door opened and Cania brought in a covered tray, which she placed on the little table by the wall.

"Your dinner," she said, and then left. The timing of her entry confirmed Ulene's hints that we were being watched. I sighed and uncovered the tray. It was a simple meal of bread, fruit, and cheese, but the food was fresh and wholesome. There was also a mug of wine.

Ulene sat beside me as I ate. I offered to share but she shook her head.

"Am I being prepared for some purpose?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said and then we relapsed into silence. Knowing that we were perhaps under observation kept me from asking any of the questions that fought for my tongue, and Ulene, like many dryads I have met, seemed more comfortable with silence than with idle conversation. So it was a restful silence, but I ate quickly and she rose when I did. I wrapped my arms around her and once again took in the clean woodsy scent of her hair.

"Thank you," I said. She made no reply but she rubbed her face against my chest.

I was not overly surprised when she led me to Irenicus' room. There was no one there, however, which did surprise me somewhat. My eyes were immediately drawn to the lute lying on the table and my heart rose for an instant until I realized it was not my own instrument.

"He said you would know what to do," Ulene said and then she left me.

It was an eight course lute with a deeply rounded belly. At first glance, the instrument seemed very plain, without the decorated bridge that some lutenists fancy. The wood was rich with subtle variations in color. The sound hole was carved with tiny interlocking rings and the graceful curve of the belly was a work of art all in itself. The strings appeared to be in perfect condition but the instrument itself was sadly out of tune. Ulene was right, I knew what to do.

The lute is a queen among stringed instruments but she is a demanding mistress, constantly requiring the tender attentions of the lutenist. Myself, I find tuning to be rather pleasant and soothing work. 'Creating order out of chaos', one of my teachers had called it. I was lost in my own little world, curled up on the sofa with an exquisite instrument on my lap, stroking the glorious sound from it.

"It has not been played for many years. The strings are enchanted not to break but I doubt there is any spell that will keep them in tune," Irenicus said. The lute sang out as my fingers jerked against the string. I hadn't heard him enter the room.

"I was taught this should be a labor of love," I said, using a faint smile to cover my disquiet. I wasn't sure how I should react. In this civilized setting, it was easy to pretend he was a different man from the one I faced while strapped to a table. I think most bards are trained to treat any potential patron with polite respect, and that was the mode of address I always fell back upon when nervous or uncertain.

"Tuning is a sad bore," Irenicus said.

"This is yours?" I asked. It had not occurred to me that he was a musician.

"It…" A look almost of confusion crossed his face for just a moment. "It was made for me." I held it out to him but he shook his head. "I play no longer," he said. "I have…forgotten."

I wrinkled my brow at that. Could one forget how to play a lute? Surely no mere casual player would own an instrument of such exceptional quality.

"Would it annoy you if I finished the tuning?"

"Not as much as I suspect it would annoy you to leave it half done," he said with mild sarcasm and I gave him another faint smile. He poured himself wine from a decanter on the side table and settled into his armchair with a book.

I was self conscious at first but the repetitive nature of the task helped relax me slightly—as much as it was possible to relax in the presence of one who had too much control over me.

"Do you wish me to play now?" I asked when I was done.

"Of course," he said impatiently. I waited a beat to see if he was going to suggest a piece he wanted to hear but he went back to his book. There is music one plays as a background to conversation, or for an unknown audience, pleasing but not obtrusive, and these were the pieces I chose at first. But as he continued to read, I began to play music closer to my own heart. And then a wave of sadness and self-pity caught me by surprise. My throat tightened with emotion and my fingers faltered on the strings. I felt the mage's eyes upon me. At some point, Irenicus had set aside his book. I stood and placed the lute carefully on the table.

"Forgive me," I said, when I felt my voice was under control. "I grow weary, I'm afraid. Is there…anything further you require from me?" I stood very still with my eyes lowered and awaited his answer.

He watched me for a moment with a small and enigmatic smile.

"My Ulene," he said. "Did she please you today?" This took me aback and I wasn't sure how to answer.

"She is beautiful and kind," I murmured.

"If you make another attempt to extract information from her, I will punish her, not you. I will punish her in your presence. Is that understood?"

"Yes," I said in a low voice.

"That having been said, do you wish to stay with her tonight?" I stared at him in astonishment.

"I…certainly I would, if she permits."

He gave me a rather sardonic look. Her permission apparently meant nothing to him. I looked down again to hide the flash of anger that gave me.

"You will be locked in, of course, partially for your own protection. This stronghold has many deadly traps and defenses."

How does one thank a man for allowing one to sleep with his concubine? I could think of no words, so I made him a slight bow. My jailer golem appeared and I followed it to the bedroom where I had bathed earlier. Ulene awaited me there.


	3. A Taste of Blood

**Ch. 3…A Taste of Blood**

The next time I was brought to the torture room, there was a woman strapped to the table.

"Dynaheir," I cried. She turned her head.

"Thou art alive, Lorian!"

Dynaheir, always so poised and dignified, such a _formidable_ young woman, now looked more like the frightened girl whom I had helped rescue from the gnolls' stronghold a year ago. I had hoped to never see that look on her face again. She had been stripped of her jewelry and her clothing was stained and disheveled.

"Are you well? Do you know what happened to the others?" I asked.

"I have not been harmed. Imoen…"

"You have seen her?" Dynaheir nodded and tears sprang to her dark eyes.

"He hath hurt her grievously, Lorian. Doth he torture thee as well?" I nodded. "I am to be next?"

Instead of answering, I tried to release the bindings that held her to the table. I could not discover the trick to it. Then the jailer golem grabbed me by one shoulder and dragged me backwards a few steps.

"Hath Minsc been brought to this place?"

"You are the first of the group that I've seen," I said. "I don't even know how I came to be here. Last I remember we were at a party."

"Thou wert with a woman," she said dryly. "Minsc saw thee leave with her. Later, a message was sent to our hotel, asking me and Imoen to meet thee. We were told thou hadst run afoul of the law and were detained at the Flaming Fist gaol."

"And you believed it?"

"Hath happened before," she said, even more dryly. "'Tis always Imoen thou callest upon for aid on these occasions. I should have suspected something amiss when thou askest for me as well."

"I know why he took me," I said.

"Doth this have aught to do with thy divine blood?"

I nodded.

"But I do not know what he wants with you. And I don't understand why he went after only you and Imoen."

"'Twas deliberately done, if in error. The mage's hirelings had been directed to kidnap thine human female companion," she said. "They did not know which of us to take so they took us both."

"It still makes no sense."

"'Tis a mystery," she began and then her eyes widened. I turned to see Irenicus enter the room.

"Hold him securely," the mage told the golem. It wrapped its arms around me in a bizarre parody of an embrace. I couldn't wiggle out of its hold. In fact, I could barely take a deep breath.

"Does it distress you or relieve you to see another in your place?" he asked me. There was a glint in his eye that disturbed me greatly.

"Release her," I said. "Your business is with me, not her." He smiled a little and approached the table.

"A Rashemen witch," he said. "You have traveled far in search of the truth behind Alaundo's prophecies, have you not? Perhaps it will be your good fortune to catch a glimpse of the possibilities." She gave him a steely gaze. I could not imagine how he had come to know anything about her. How long had he been watching us all?

Perhaps he had tortured the information out of Imoen.

"You have no right to detain me here. What is it you wish from me?" Dynaheir asked in a haughty voice.

"I, too, seek the truth," he said and released the binding holding down her left arm. In a sudden deft move, he popped her elbow out of joint. She shrieked and I yelled something, I'm not sure what. I stood so close that I could not only see the gray tinge to her skin but also the beads of sweat that had popped out on her face. I had dislocated a shoulder once and the pain had been truly shocking.

Methodically, over the course of the next couple of hours, Irenicus dislocated her wrist and all five fingers of her left hand. Much later, I found myself bruised from my struggles against the golem's grip but I felt nothing at the time.

"It is convenient that she is here to serve as your proxy, so to speak," he said in my ear. We both watched Dynaheir gasp for breath. "I have been without music for a very long time and I find myself loath to disable my lutenist."

This enraged me on so many levels that I was speechless for a moment.

"You actually expect me to continue playing the lute for you after what you have done?"

"I expect that you will obey my every command," he said silkily.

_Die_, I thought with all my heart. _Die, die, die_! I thought I had known anger and hatred in my life. My brother Sarevok had killed the only father I had ever known before my very eyes. But the feelings I had for Sarevok were but a candle flame to the inferno that raged through me now.

Irenicus leaned toward me with a tight satisfied smile on his lips. He brushed the hair out of my eyes in a gesture that mimicked affection. I jerked away from him. _Die_, I thought again and I may have even said it aloud. _If the gods are just, you will die by my hand._

Irenicus went to the counter and selected one of the knives.

"Release his right arm," he told the golem. It adjusted its grip on me. "Bring him closer." The golem walked me over to the table. Dynaheir stared up in silent appeal. Irenicus put the knife in my hand, and used both his hands to control my wrist.

"Do you wish to kill me with this blade?" he asked.

"Release me and find out." I barely recognized my own voice.

In a quick movement, Irenicus forced my arm down so that the knife slashed across Dynaheir's upper arm. The knife was sharp and the cut went deep. She and I both screamed. I let the knife fall to the floor.

Irenicus told the golem to secure my right arm again and then he let his palm fill with my friend's blood. He brought his bloody hand to my face.

"The scent of fresh blood awakens primal emotions in us all, do you not agree? Blood is life, blood is strength. We know this in the core of our being." Warm blood dripped from his hand down my chest. "Drink this blood, Lorian, as an offering to call forth your divine soul."

I turned my head away in horror and disgust.

"No," I whispered.

"Drink it," he said. "Or I shall force you to gouge out her eye next."

A shudder ran through me and I turned to meet his gaze. His eyes were avid, his voice was cold, and I had no doubt whatsoever that he would do exactly what he said. I bent my head and lapped the blood from his hand.

_Die by my hand_.

"This is the way it must be," he said in my ear as I licked his palm like a dog. His free hand stroked my hair. A red-tinged darkness came over me. I do not remember what happened next, until I woke alone in my cell with blood on my clothes. None of it was mine.

xxxxx

The cell door opened. I remained where I was, staring at the wall. Someone spoke. I ignored the sound. Eventually it stopped.

The door opened again some time later. There were two of them this time. A hand grasped my shoulder and I did not resist as it rolled me onto my back.

"He's very cold," Ulene said, turning her head to speak to the other. Her face and her voice were anxious. "Lorian, please, you must get up now."

I closed my eyes in response.

The hand shook me.

"Get up," Cania said. "These are his orders. It is my sister who will suffer if you disobey." I opened my eyes at that. Did I care? Did it matter who suffered?

"I can't."

"You can't get up?" Cania asked. "Have you been hurt? Let us help you."

I shut my eyes again.

"I can't."

There was silence for a moment.

"Please, Lorian, you must try," Ulene said. She sounded close to tears. She shook me harder. "I don't know what to do," she wailed.

"This is the way it must be," I said. I don't know if she heard me. My voice was almost gone.

"Should we tell _him_?" Ulene asked.

"No," Cania replied. "Get the golem."

Things happened. I was carried. Dumped into a tub of hot water. Dried and laid on a bed. Someone tried to work clothes over my limp body and finally gave up. Nothing made much of an impact until I heard _his_ voice.

"Why am I kept waiting?"

"I'm sorry," Ulene said tearfully. "He seems to be drugged or ill. I don't know what is wrong."

There was silence for a moment. A cold hand touched my face, peeled back my eyelid. I turned my face away. "All is well. I have found the key to his inner nature and he knows it. He cannot retreat from this knowledge forever." The voice moved away. "I will allow him a respite however. Do not bother to dress him. Let him sleep here for now, and both of you stay with him. Keep him warm and…tend to him."

"Both of us?" Ulene asked.

"There is a chance he may turn violent later. If one of you is injured, the other can summon aid."


	4. In The Grove

_Author's Note: I had hoped for a quicker update, but alas, it was not to be._

**Ch. 4…In the Grove**

When I first woke, I didn't know where I was. There was a warm presence at my back and my arm was around a slim waist. I opened my eyes to see Ulene. I just blinked at her in the dim light and then memories began to return.

"Sune help me," I whispered as I began to tremble. Ulene pulled my head to her soft breast. Behind me, Cania stroked my back. I don't know how long I lay there.

"I'm sorry," I said at last. "I don't…" _I don't think I can bear it. I don't think I can take any more horror._

But of course, you never know what you can bear, until you do so.

I had finally stopped trembling when the door opened and the third sister entered. For a moment, I could not remember her name. Normally I have a good memory for names.

"You must come, Ulene, and bring Lorian."

"Where?" Ulene asked.

"To the grove," Elyme said. That was her name, Elyme. The sisters exchanged frightened looks.

The grove?

We pulled on our clothes and then Ulene led me past Irenicus' suite and through a tunnel I had never been down. The passage opened into a huge cavern, brightly lit with mage lights. It was like a little world of its own, with trees and shrubs, masses of flowers and a trickling stream that ran over rocks to form a miniature waterfall cascading into a deep pool. The cavern could have been beautiful if only the plants had been healthy. The shrubs were straggly, the flowers carried but a few pale blooms, and the trees were almost leafless.

Irenicus waited for us and beside him were three gray-skinned dwarves of the race known as duergar. I had never seen their kind before but had heard them described in tales of the Underdark. They were about the same height as other dwarves I had met, but much thinner, with a sense of wrongness to their appearance that I could not quite put my finger on. Two were unarmed and the third held an axe. All three wore chain shirts. Ulene clutched at my arm and my wits were so dull that I had no idea why she was suddenly so afraid.

Many emotions passed through me at the sight of my torturer, but fear was predominant. I could almost hear echoes of Dynaheir's screams. My steps faltered but I approached him and made a slight bow.

"What do you wish of me?" I asked. At least my voice did not tremble although I quaked inside.

"Your attention," he said, with a tiny smile. He certainly had that. He had all of my anxious and fearful attention. He nodded to the dwarf with the axe, who then strode to one of the trees. Oh, sweet Sune. There were three oaks in this cavern. These were the dryads' trees.

"No, Ilyich, don't!" Ulene cried and then she threw herself on her knees before Irenicus. "Please, my master, stop him!"

The axe hit the tree with a dull thud. Ulene shrieked in pain. Blood ran from her side as a wound opened.

"Ask Lorian to stop him," Irenicus said. "If he has the power, he can save you from the duergar."

The axe struck again and Ulene fell backwards. I caught her before she hit the ground.

"Please," she whispered.

"Tell me what you wish of me!" I said. Irenicus waved his hand towards the dwarves.

"It is simple enough," he said. "Stop them by any means at your disposal." The dwarves grinned at me, obviously eager for a fight.

Any means at my disposal? I had no weapons and no spells. I took a step toward the dwarves. I have fought with a blade, with a bow, but rarely with my fists. I'm a musician, after all, and no warrior. The duergar with the axe, Ilyich, said something to the others in Dwarven, which I can recognize but not speak. They laughed.

I sprinted past the two dwarves, taking them by surprise, and barreled into Ilyich. I had hoped to knock him down, maybe even disarm him. He staggered backwards when I slammed into him, but despite my greater size and weight, he managed to keep his footing. He struck me a vicious blow in the side with the haft of his axe. The resulting white explosion of pain made me fall to one knee.

"I told you no weapons," Irenicus warned. Ilyich muttered what I took to be a curse and threw the axe back behind him. He slammed my ribs a couple of times with his fists, and I backed away, right into the reach of the two other dwarves. I was already starting to feel sick and the kidney punch I couldn't avoid did not help matters. If I let them ring me I was going to be their punching dummy.

I slipped past Ilyich and ran back towards the spot where he had thrown his axe. I've only used an axe for chopping firewood but it had to be better than my fists. If I had the axe, then they couldn't attack the tree. I heard the dwarves pounding after me. To my panicked frustration, the axe had landed somewhere in the shrubbery. I couldn't find it. Someone barreled into me and I went flying. I skidded on my hands and knees and almost ended up in the pool.

The pool was deep with a very steep drop-off. The duergar obviously did not know what I was, for they grinned, thinking I was trapped. One of the duergar grabbed me by the shirt to pull me away from the edge. I hooked my hands into his chain shirt and threw myself backwards into the water, dragging him in with me.

I don't have gills but I'm half-triton and a singer as well. I can hold my breath a very long time. It didn't appear that the dwarf could swim at all. His chain shirt weighed him down and I dragged him the rest of the way to the bottom of the pool. I held him there until he stopped struggling. I watched his expression as he fought, as he panicked, as he gave up hope, and as death came for him.

It had never occurred to me to try to save him.

Something ran through me when he died. I can't describe it but I felt his spirit leave him and I felt—stronger.

I have killed men before, many times. Sometimes it seemed that after Gorion's murder, my life had become little more than a series of skirmishes, with death their inevitable outcome. Sometimes it seemed I would never be free of the stench of blood and entrails or the cries and curses of the dying. To some extent, I had become inured to the spectacle of death and yet the wastefulness, the ugliness, the sheer _stupidity_ of these endless conflicts filled me with sadness and regret.

My brother Sarevok's death had been the first to make me feel not just relief that the fight was over or thankfulness at my own survival, but a fierce joy. And now I felt that joy again, at the death of this stranger.

_What was happening to me?_

I surfaced to find two furious dwarven faces staring down at me. I reached for the closest beard but both duergar backed away from the water when they saw me.

I was safe in the water but it didn't matter, for Ilyich immediately went back for his axe. Ulene was still vulnerable. I surged out of the water and raced after him. I tackled him and we both hit the ground hard, him on the bottom with me grinding my weight into him. He twisted beneath me and we rolled and wrestled, with the other dwarf beside us, kicking me in the back and the legs when he got a chance. I slammed Ilyich's head several times against the cavern floor as hard as I could. He sank his teeth into my upper arm and worried at me like a dog.

The second dwarf grabbed me by the hair and the shoulder, and with Ilyich bucking beneath me, managed to drag me off. I drove my elbow back into his face in a blow that made my arm go numb, but I did manage to break his nose. Blood poured down his face with a metallic smell that instantly reminded me of licking the blood from the mage's hand. The duergar's death had sent me to a place beyond fear, but the blood scent sent me into a frenzy. I started pounding away with my fists, striking his face again and again and panting from the exertion.

There was a flash of magic behind me and I turned. Ilyich, axe in hand, went flying back away from me. In my distraction, he could have killed me if the mage had not intervened. The other dwarf backed away, but I stood still as Irenicus, his face set in a cold fury, strode past us.

"I told you no weapons," he said, his voice a quiet threat. Ilyich dropped the axe and slowly came to his feet, shaking his head as if to clear it. His brows drew down and he stared up at Irenicus.

"He killed my clan brother!"

"I have no interest in your excuses."

"He killed my brother!" Ilyich repeated. "He owes me a blood price for that, mage."

"He is worth more to me than a hundred duergar," Irenicus said icily. Ilyich stared up at him with cold and cunning eyes.

"Say what ye like, mage, ye be needing us here and ye be owing me blood for my brother's death."

"Do not whine to me for blood, cur, if three of you cannot protect yourselves against one unarmed bard. You claim to be warriors."

Ilyich raised his clenched fist, not quite shaking it in Irenicus' face, but close.

"Ye owe us."

"No," Irenicus said. "Touch him without permission and I will ensure that your suffering lasts for decades." The two dwarves exchanged a rather sly look.

"If ye be unwilling to pay the blood price, then gold might suffice." Irenicus raised his brows in a haughty expression.

"I will not pay you for your own failure." The dwarves scowled.

"Ye will regret this, mage," Ilyich said.

"Take your bluster and get out," he replied.

Ulene still lay on the ground with her hand pressed to the wounds in her side. Blood still seeped between her fingers.

"She must be healed," I said as the two duergar slowly left, muttering in their own tongue and casting me a look that held promises of future retribution.

"Then do so," the mage snapped.

"Me? I am no healer."

"You are the son of a god," Irenicus said impatiently. "You have the power to do this."

How could he have known of the gifts of my heritage? Had I told him myself? It was true that I could occasionally heal wounds with a touch but it was not a power I liked to use. It made me feel…strange. Still, I approached Ulene and knelt beside her. Her eyes held a mix of gratitude and dread.

"It is the tree you must heal," Irenicus said.

"Ah, of course."

I placed my hand on the trunk where the sap still oozed, thick and sticky. I closed my eyes and reached down to the dark, unwholesome core within me, a place where neither music nor beauty could touch. Sometimes this place was empty of power but today it was there to be called. The death of the duergar had energized me. My fingers felt warm as the energy flowed into Ulene's tree. When I opened my eyes, the trunk had healed flawlessly and so had Ulene.

I helped her to her feet. She smiled at me and pressed my fingers.

"Lorian. Fetch the body out of the pool before it fouls the water." I looked at the mage, startled, then nodded and dove into the water.

Dragging the dwarf's body to the surface was an unpleasant task. It was not hard to pull him to the surface but actually getting him out of the water was awkward and difficult to do by myself. Irenicus watched, apparently rather amused, and did not offer any aid. Eventually I got him out, with little dignity to either myself or the corpse.

I crouched beside the body of my victim, for lack of a better word. All his maliciousness and anger had been washed away by death, and what remained seemed pitiable. I had killed him, not out of self-defense, but to protect Ulene. But had she been truly in danger or had this all been a staged production, performed to elicit a response? I looked up at the mage, my eyes filled with questions. He gave his secretive half smile. I stood when he approached me.

He put his cold hand under my chin. Whatever he saw in my face seemed to satisfy him.

"Get him cleaned up," he told Ulene. "I will expect him in my rooms after dinner."


	5. The Hall of Preservation

**Ch. 5…The Hall of Preservation**

As soon as we returned to the room that I was beginning to think of as ours (as if I were a guest in some manor house and not a prisoner in an underground dungeon), Ulene threw her arms around my neck.

"You saved me," she murmured and then she kissed me two, three times. I stroked her hair.

"You were only in danger because of me," I said. "I'm afraid…" and then she kissed me again.

"It is him, not you," she whispered in my ear. "Never doubt that. And I fear my sisters and I will not survive much longer no matter what any of us does." She sighed and clutched me tighter. "You have seen our trees."

Their trees were dying, here in this hellish place. She was right.

"He will never free us," she said. "We have failed him. For that, he shall let us die." And she sighed again in sad resignation.

"I don't understand." She just shook her head.

"We cannot give him what was taken from him," she said. "Now he seeks it in you. If you cannot give it to him, you will share our fate."

"But what has he lost? What does he want so badly that he will kill and torture to get it back?"

"He will not tell us," she said. "He is so cold and bitter. I think it must be love—to be able to feel love again."

Surely that could not be right. No one could mistake power for love, or believe that love could be compelled through fear and pain. That would be…madness.

I bathed quickly and dressed in yet more new and unfamiliar clothes. Ulene had winced when she saw the bruises on my back and ribs and brought me a healing potion from a small chest under the bed. By then my hair was fairly dry. Ulene combed it out and braided it in one tail down my back.

When the door opened, I assumed one of the other dryads was bringing supper. I was wrong. The man that entered moved with total confidence. He gave me a smile that contained such a mix of familiarity and insolence that I thought I must surely know him and had merely forgotten. But I could never have forgotten his face, both handsome and repellent in equal parts. What first struck me were his eyes, which glowed like red gems. Drow are said to have such eyes but he was no drow. His skin was pale, not dark, and his ears were small and rounded like a human's. His hair was cut short, like some warriors prefer, but he was richly dressed, like a noble or courtier.

Ulene stiffened by my side, and I knew he was no stranger to her, and no friend.

"Why are you here, Nalron?" she asked. He stepped closer, and when he did so, I caught his scent, a strange, rank and almost fetid odor so overpowering that I found myself taking a step backward in disgust. I suspected then what he was and Ulene's words confirmed it.

"I did not invite you in, cambion," she said. He was the spawn of a human and a fiend.

"Have you forgotten so quickly how I expect to be greeted?" Nalron asked and he smirked at her. Expressionlessly, she moved towards him and stood very still as he bent down to kiss her. He gave her no polite peck on the cheek. I watched in astonishment and growing wrath as he gave her a deep probing kiss and as his hands pushed her clothing out of the way and caressed her body. As soon as he released her, she stepped away but would not meet my eyes.

"That is better," Nalron said to her bowed head. "A pity we have so little time, for you know, my pet, how long it takes to sate my lust. Alas, our master has requested that I entertain the little god-child here while he is occupied with other business."

Nalron turned his burning gaze upon me.

"I am Nalron," he said and he held out his hand to me.

"I am Lorian of Candlekeep," I replied, and I had to work to keep the anger out of my voice. Reluctantly, I touched his hand in greeting. His thick meaty fingers closed around mine.

Because of my own peculiarities, I tend to notice people's hands. Instead of human nails, he had dark blunted claws. I half expected him to crush my fingers or to send a jolt of power through me but he did no more than hold my fingers longer than seemed necessary or polite. His hand was dry but feverishly warm.

"Lorian of Candlekeep," he murmured. "Son of a dead god, kin-slayer, protector of fair maidens, and a bard whose music can _almost_ soften a heart of stone," he said mockingly. His eyes bored into me but if there was a message there, I could not read it. He released my hand at last.

"Like you, I am a prisoner here, or a slave, if you will," he told me. "However, I have earned a position of some trust with our master, and he permits me certain…liberties." He smiled at Ulene, who still kept her head down.

"For now, I have been asked to show you the Hall of Preservation." From Ulene's slight shudder, I could guess that this was no place I would wish to see.

It wasn't.

Huge glass jars filled with some viscous liquid housed the battered and broken bodies of humans, elves, and other people less easily identified. A strange apparatus connected the jars, which were lit from below with an eerie blue light, showcasing the pitiful remains within. I could sense Nalron's silent presence at my back as I walked through the large cavern, staring with horrified fascination.

"For the gods' sake, what is the purpose of this display?" I finally had to ask. We had stopped before the jar holding the body of an elven man, who had obviously died in some horrific fire. His skin, little more than a blackened crust, hung from his flesh in patches and his eyes and much of his face had been burned away. "Are these the bodies of his enemies? Or are they specimens? Is this perhaps some bizarre memorial?"

Nalron laughed.

"My dear Lorian, these are what remains of our master's most trusted friends and allies," he said. Then he rapped his knuckles against the glass. The man—the body—turned and pressed his charred fingers against the side of the jar.

"Release me!" the elf cried. Some sort of magical amplification made him sound as if he were standing right beside us instead of immersed in liquid stasis. I stumbled back in horror, bumping into Nalron.

"Sweet Sune, he is alive," I whispered. The imprisoned man heard me.

"I still feel the pain, master," he said. "I burn—oh Seldarine, I burn! You promised to heal me when you had the power." His voice broke in a sob. "Please don't leave me here like this! Master, have you forgotten me? You promised…you promised…"

"Come away," Nalron said, and with his hand on my shoulder, he steered me towards the door. He leaned into me and he radiated heat like a stove.

"This will be your fate if you fail Irenicus," he said. "You face eternal life in a bottle, forsaken and alone, with madness and despair your only companions."

"Death would be better," I said, trembling with sick horror.

"Indeed it would be," the cambion said. "Death would be the release you would pray for with every thought. And death would be denied you for as long as the mage lives."

"What does he want from me?"

Nalron's fingers tightened on my shoulder. His stench seemed to flow over me like a fog. As if aware of my thought, he said, "I can smell the taint within you, Lorian. Like blood freshly spilled, it calls to me." I shut my eyes to evade his blood-colored eyes but his words could not be avoided.

"You deny it, push it away. You pretend it doesn't exist. But Lorian, your god's blood is your only hope. You must learn to nourish and embrace the taint within you. It is your salvation."

"I can't," I said. "I would lose myself. I would lose…everything."

"He will strip everything from you until there is nothing left but the taint," Nalron whispered in my ear. "That is his goal—can you not feel it? You must feed the power within or it will be taken from you, along with everything else. And then—the bottle."

I shuddered and shook my head.

"I can help you," Nalron said. His breath was warm against my ear. He was attempting to manipulate me with his words—as a bard, I am experienced in such things—but that did not mean that he was lying. Everything Irenicus had done to me was aimed at this one goal—to force me to surrender myself to Bhaal's power. I could still remember the terrifying dreams that had plagued me when my dead father's power first began to show itself. I had never been told of my heritage and I had thought I was losing my mind.

I wanted to refuse his help. I wanted to say that I would never give myself over to the taint within me. I wanted to believe that I would never fall to the evil inside me.

But Irenicus had shaken that belief. I no longer knew what I was capable of doing. I did not know what to say, so I said nothing.

Nalron smiled and he squeezed my shoulder.

"Come," he said. "I have something else to show you."

The cambion led me down yet another dark side passage. This place was a maze.

"What is that sound?" I asked. There was a whir, as if from some giant's spinning wheel, and a crackling noise like throwing wet wood onto a bonfire.

"It is yet another of Irenicus' contraptions. He is as ingenious as any six gnomes," Nalron said a bit contemptuously. The cambion opened a door that I could barely see in the gloom, and then there was the blue flash of lightning. I blinked in the sudden glare.

A djinni, half again my height, was chained against the cavern wall. In the center of the cavern was the rotating device which I had heard, and from time to time it spit out bolts of raw electrical energy at the djinni. He groaned in agony but bit his lip and fell silent when Nalron approached the machine.

"I believe you have yet to experience this device," he said to me.

"What is—this is used for torture?"

"Malaaq here has yet to learn the importance of swift and unquestioning obedience," Nalron said, giving the djinni a cruel smile. "The strength and frequency of the shocks are governed by this dial here," he told me. "But watch." He turned the dial and the pitch of the machine's hum dropped significantly. "At the lowest intensities, the sensation becomes one more of pleasure than pain, particularly for a creature from the Plane of Air. Is that not correct, Malaaq?" He turned to me and smirked. "He can become quite aroused by a gentle hand at the controls."

The djinni closed his eyes and turned his face away.

"In time Malaaq can be taught to love and crave his torture just as sometimes a penitent learns to love the scourge more than the sins he commits to earn his punishment." He gave me a slow evil smile. "Is that not…interesting? I can teach you to love and crave the taint within you, Lorian. I can help you." His smile and his gaze turned intimate.

"You are an affront to the gods," I said in a low voice. I turned away but the cambion caught my arm before I could leave the cavern and swung me back to face him.

"Neither squeamishness nor goodness will serve you here," he said. "Nor will the gods save you. I have heard you pray to Sune. Do you think she can hear you in this place?" He raised his free hand to my face and dug his claws lightly into my cheek. "Do you think your goddess will still love you when I ruin your handsome face?"

I froze and the cambion's eyes glittered with satisfaction. It was well known that Sune would turn away from the disfigured.

"Irenicus may cling to his foolish desire for beauty despite everything he has learned but you see the truth, do you not? Anything beautiful withers and dies at his touch." His claws caressed me. "You have seen the jars. There is no beauty here, only horror and death. Give yourself over to the chaos within and you may yet save yourself." I felt his fingers flex and I knew he longed to slash the flesh from my face.

"That's enough," Irenicus said from the doorway. For a moment there was a look of utter hatred in Nalron's eyes, and then he gave a mocking smile and turned to face the mage.

"I see the little god-child is not the only squeamish one here," the cambion said with a sneer. "I have told you what you need to do." The mage took three quick steps into the room, his face set with anger. "The sooner you recover your manhood the better, Jon."

Irenicus struck him a backhanded blow that must have been augmented with magic, for the cambion flew back and slammed into the wall behind him with a sound that would have meant broken ribs or a broken spine in a human.

"Stay here," he told me curtly. He gave the cambion a vicious kick and then grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out of the chamber. As soon as he was out of sight, the djinni beckoned me to come closer.

"We only have a moment," he whispered and despite the noise of the machine behind us, I could easily hear his voice in my head. "Free me, and I will do my best to free you as well."

"Can you free my companions also?" He frowned at me but nodded.

"Be they prisoners here, I will attempt to free them."

"How do I release you?" The manacles that held him to the wall seemed magical in nature.

"The mage has a flask in his possession. You will know it when you see it. If you can find it and bring it to me, I can free myself from his geas."

"Where is it?" I asked but the djinni gave me a warning look and fell silent. A moment later, Irenicus returned alone. He strode to the machine's controls and turned it off.

"Return to your lamp, Malaaq," he said. The manacles opened and then the djinni disappeared. A swirl of wind brushed past me and he was gone.

"His lamp?" I asked. There was no lamp in the room. The mage gave me a frown.

"Come," was all he said.

He moved with the quick steps of exasperation and I hustled to keep up.

"Nalron has his uses but he may be more trouble than he is worth," he said. I thought he was talking to himself but then he turned and looked at me. "I may let you kill him."

It was difficult to know how to respond to that so I said nothing. Apparently that wasn't good enough.

"Would that please you?" he asked. He slowed his pace.

"I don't know that any death would please me," I said after a moment's thought. _Except yours_. The mage gave one of his small cold smiles.

"Perhaps I should tell you what he has done to your friend Imoen."

"Where is she?" I asked and I found myself grasping his arm. The look he gave me made me release him though. "Is she well?"

"She lives," he said casually. He kept walking. "I may let you see her in time," he added, "If you continue to please me as you have today."

I had pleased him by killing one of his duergar slaves. I wondered what it would take to continue to please him. If killing a cambion was what he wanted of me—I thought I could find the will to do so.


	6. The Failure of Love

_Author's Note: I apologize for the long update time, Dear Reader, but sometimes that bizarre sequence of events known as 'real life' manages to force itself between me and my fictional life…_

**Ch. 6…The Failure of Love**

I followed Irenicus to his rooms. I went to take the lute from its case but instead he told me to pour out wine for us both. So we were going to talk, it appeared.

I could not understand him at all. He had tortured me, he had made me hurt my friend and he had forced me to kill. And now he expected me to sit with him and drink wine. And I was going to do so. Not simply because I was afraid to disobey him (although I feared him more than I had ever feared anything) but because…he fascinated me. And I wondered what was wrong with me.

I watched him surreptitiously as I fetched the drinks. He sat in his armchair with his long legs stretched out before him. He looked tired. He took a deep swallow from the glass I handed him and then set it on the table by his side. I sat in the chair across from him and barely wet my lips with the wine before setting it aside.

We sat quietly for a few moments. His eyes were hooded but I could feel him studying me. I watched him through my lashes and waited.

"Tell me how you come to know Imoen," he said.

I could think of no reason not to tell him and I knew all too well that he could compel me to speak, if he wished. I did not want him to force me to speak. I should be grateful to be here in this beautiful room, curled up in a chair, and not stretched out on a table, waiting for the knives.

I _was_ grateful. I was pathetically grateful.

"We were children together in Candlekeep. Although there were other children in the village, we were the only two who lived in the monastery itself, so we became close. She was an orphan, like me."

"Was she, too, left at a shrine of Ilmater?" I didn't understand the sarcasm in his voice.

"No, I don't think so. I don't actually know," I said. "She was brought in by one of my guardian's friends. I was maybe eight when she came to Candlekeep and she was much younger. I was never told where she had been found and she was too young to remember, I think."

"You had no curiosity about your origins?"

"She did," I said. I shrugged. "She was told her parents had been killed by bandits, but…"

The mage raised his brows.

"She didn't believe it," I said. "She thought Gorion—my guardian—had made up the tale to spare her feelings. I don't know the truth."

"And you were never curious about your own story?"

"My own tale seemed plain enough. If my mother had even survived my birth, neither she nor her kin wished to rear me. It is not uncommon for half-breeds to be cast aside, after all." I took a sip of blood red wine and spread my fingers to examine the webbing. "Later, when I learned who my father was, it became clear why _he_ had never claimed me."

I felt the mage's eyes searching me, as if he could sense the childhood pain that my matter-of-fact tone tried to conceal. If so, he said nothing. Perhaps he would ask again, the next time I was strapped to his table. I got up and refilled his glass.

"So you and Imoen were childhood friends."

"Yes. We were five years apart, however, which was a vast gulf at that age and she was just a child when I left. We've become closer friends this last year, when we started traveling together." The mage frowned a bit.

"When you left?" I drank some more wine.

"I ran away from Candlekeep when I was fourteen," I said. "So we had been apart a long time. Six or seven years, I guess."

"You ran away from the monastery? Why?" The weight of my braid slid along my shoulder when I moved my head.

"The usual reasons, I suppose. I was restless. Candlekeep was a place of rules and order and I found that very…constricting." I looked up from my glass. "And then I met a woman."

"When you were fourteen?" He sounded amused. "Was that not rather precocious, even for a half-human?"

I flushed a little. I would have liked to say our relationship wasn't like that—but as it turned out, it was.

"She was a bard and rather well-known along the Sword Coast at that time," I said. His lips twitched in deeper amusement. Bard is not actually a synonym for promiscuity, although in her particular case the stereotype held true enough.

"Since I was small, I used to slip out of the keep to go to the village tavern. Traveling entertainers were not permitted in the monastery itself. There was music at Candlekeep—a surprising number of the monks could play instruments and I had been instructed in the lute and the harp from an early age—but it wasn't the same. To the monks, the music was…"

I frowned and thought about my wording.

"They saw music as something to be scribed and dissected or studied as a vehicle for oral history perhaps. But she understood the true power the music held. When she sang, I could feel the music run through my veins like magic. It was a revelation." It was like the night I had dreamed of the gods and had known that my heart and my soul would belong to Sune.

Irenicus propped his head on his hand and gave me a slanted look, still smiling a little.

"When she left, I went with her," I said. "I persuaded her to take me as her apprentice."

"She took you away without your guardian's permission?"

"Yes. He would never have consented but she didn't care. Silke had few scruples. I did not realize that at the time. Growing up in Candlekeep, I was terribly naïve."

"Did she take you as her lover as well, at that tender age?" I sighed.

"Yes." I had left Candlekeep with nothing but the clothes on my back and a handful of coppers in my purse. She had dressed me richly; bought me a fine lute, provided everything I needed—but it all came at a price. It was a price I had been eager to pay, at first. Only later did I realize the true value of what she wished to take from me.

"How old was she?"

"About forty, I think. Like many human women, she didn't care to share her exact age."

"You must have been a comely youth." His look embarrassed me.

"She was striking and I was completely smitten," I said ruefully. "But Silke—well, Silke loved her music. She loved herself. And that was about it, I think. It took me awhile to figure that out. We traveled together for several years."

I fiddled with my glass. By the time I was a man she—and those she chose to share me with—had begun to lose interest in me.

"And then the apprenticeship was over. I had learned what she was willing to teach me." I got up again and poured wine in both our glasses. "So I moved on. I traveled up along the Sword Coast, sometimes alone, sometimes with other bards I met along the road, playing at festivals and in taverns, occasionally in the homes of lords or wealthy merchants. Then one day, a message caught up with me. It was from Gorion, calling me back to Candlekeep. So I returned and that was when I met up with Imoen again."

And then Gorion was killed. And Imoen and I—and the companions we met along the way—sought his killer. We found him and destroyed him. And now this mage had found us.

"Please," I said. "Will you not let me see her and Dynaheir?" I was afraid if I begged, he would refuse me. Yet I had to ask. He looked at me a long moment and then he inclined his head slightly.

"Tomorrow," he said.

"Thank you," I sighed.

"You care deeply for these women, it seems," he said neutrally.

"They are my friends and companions. I love them."

"A Suneite," he said, shaking his head and looking a bit contemptuous. "Love is your weakness and your downfall."

"But no," I said, a little surprised and slightly offended as well, although I am well aware that there are many who belittle my goddess' teachings.

"You were snared easily enough," he said mockingly. He was referring to my capture, I assumed.

"Lust has led me astray many times," I admitted. "But not love. There is nothing stronger than love and nothing more beautiful or enduring."

"You are a fool to think so."

"Surely if you knew love, you would not speak so," I said softly.

Irenicus' eyes narrowed and he was out of his chair before I could react. He grabbed me by my braid and yanked my head back to look up at his face.

"You dare to prattle to me about love?" he growled. For a moment, I wondered if he would kill me then and there. If he did, would I dissipate into nothingness as my brother had done?

He released me and spun away. I huddled in my chair, afraid to speak or move. He picked up his glass. The wine was strong but he drank it like water.

"Love is the chain that binds you and the fetters that keep you from your true power," he said at last. "Love is the spell that saps your will, keeps you contented and complacent when you could be growing into your capabilities. Love blinds you, Lorian, and I shall strip your blindness from you."

He strode to a cabinet and yanked open the door. He pulled out a dagger in a jeweled scabbard and belted it around his waist. My eye was drawn to a small flask tucked in the back of the highest shelf. It appeared to be an empty glass bottle, such as might be used to hold scented oil, but I could sense the power within it. It must be the device that bound Malaaq to the mage's service. He had said I would know it when I saw it.

My eyes came back to the dagger. What did Irenicus want with an enchanted weapon?

"Attend," he told me. "I will show you the difference between love and power." He opened the door and told the golem outside, "Fetch the Rashemen witch. If she cannot walk, drag her."

A chill ran through me.

"Please," I said, coming forward but not quite daring to touch him. "Do not hurt her because you are angry with me."

"I am not angry," he said coldly but I thought he lied.

In a few moments, Dynaheir stalked in behind the golem, wearing the same bloodstained clothes I had last seen her in. Her dislocated joints had been reset and her wounds healed but her unnatural pallor told me she was far from well.

"Hold," Irenicus said to the golem. "Take her back out into the corridor." He turned to me with a glimmer of a smile. "There is no need to ruin my carpets with this demonstration." This time I dared to touch him. I clutched his arm.

"Don't," I said. He shook off my hand and grasped me by the nape of the neck. He pulled me out into the corridor where Dynaheir stood, with her back straight as a post and the shadow of fear in her eyes. Irenicus stared at me with the fey smile still on his lips.

"Lorian," Dynaheir began. The mage turned his head.

"Silence," he said and there was power in that one word. Dynaheir gasped and said no more. He drew his dagger and her eyes opened wide. His other hand tightened on my neck and he yanked me closer to her.

"The power in your divine blood could stay my hand, if you knew how to use it," he told me. "But your love is powerless." The blade flashed. A line of blood painted the wall. Dynaheir sank to the ground, one hand rising to the deep slash in her throat. Her life's blood poured out and then she died.

The mage released me and I fell to my knees beside my friend. I touched her hair, her face. Dynaheir, with her dry wit, her brilliant eyes and her stern adherence to duty, was gone.

"Behold the failure of love," Irenicus said and then he actually laughed. I felt all the blood drain from my face.

"I swear by Bhaal's taint that I will kill you," I said. The mage laughed again and that should have driven me wild with rage. Instead the fury that crept over me felt icy and controlled. My lips pulled back. I wondered if I could possibly be smiling. I still knelt but my eyes were locked with his. I don't know how long we would have been frozen there but then I felt a tremor from the ground beneath my knees. Irenicus blinked and his expression became irritated.

"An intruder has set off the wards," he said. "I must attend to this, Lorian. Whoever dares interrupt me will soon regret it. Wait here." He cast a spell that stole all the strength from my limbs and then he gated out of the room. I fell to the floor, helpless. My eyes were open but I could not look around or even blink. I had fallen in such a way that I could not see Dynaheir's face but only her torso and the growing stain of blood on her robe.

She should never have been here and she wouldn't have been, if not for me. She should not have died. Irenicus was wrong. It was not love that had failed; it was me.


End file.
